Masks
by laloga
Summary: Just a little drabble that I concocted while on my nth playthrough.  Female Cousland reflects on her time as a Grey Warden, on the choices she's made, and on the path she's taken. Rated M just in case. I don't own Zev, Ali, or any of them, sadly.
1. Chapter 1

_How did I end up here? What steps were those that set me on this path? I have done my best, but perfection seems to elude me, always; often I think on what my parents would say if they could see me now: would they approve of my choices, of the shape that my life has taken? So much of my time has been spent working for the good of others, of the country, of the world, and yet I have been able to glean a few moments of joy here and there-is it wrong to yearn for a simpler life? _

When he gave me the rose, that was the day that my world changed. You may think that it was the day that Howe betrayed king and country, murdered my family and destroyed my House, and that is true, but that was a larger world. _My _world, my little bubble of thoughts and feelings, that was turned on its head when Alistair approached me with the battered flower, its scent still heady after all that time.

"What a rare and wonderful thing you are, amidst all this darkness."

My heart, I thought that it would burst from being so full, so overwhelmed with joy in that moment; even now, I regard that moment as one of the best of my short life. When we kissed, every fiber of my being said _yes, this is the way it should be..._

Until Zev.

Irreverant, playful, impossible Zev.

At once my greatest weakness and source of my strength. I thought that I knew what love was, until our eyes met. Even there, at my feet, surrounded by the bodies of his associates and facing certain death at the hands of the ones he was sent to kill, he found a way to make me smile by finding humor in his situation. None of the others understood or agreed, but so be it. I was not born and raised to be a weak-willed sapling, bending at the wills of those around me, and as they set me in the place of leader, it was my decision to make.

I chose to let him live, one of the few choices that I shall never regret.

From there, it was only a matter of time. My attention slipped from Alistair-poor, sweet Alistair, who deserved better than to love a wretch like me-and I found myself entranced by the Antivan, finding ways to place myself on watch with him at night, a thing that none of the others missed. Leiliana never tired of teasing me, nor Morrigan of making her snide remarks, though I think that she was secretly pleased, as I had since sensed a strange attraction growing between her and Alistair despite their constant bickering. Oghren, of course, found it entirely amusing while Sten or Shale seemed to give less than a care, of which I was grateful. Wynne...well, it was my impression that she preferred to think of us all as chaste, but anyway...

Zevran. We spent many hours together on watches, sitting in the glow of the campfire, watching the smoke dissipate into the night air as the embers before us radiated heat. At first, I tried to tell myself that it was merely the warmth of the fire that made my skin burn, and not the sharp yet alluring gaze of the Antivan assassin, who, by all rights, I should have mistrusted.

"What are you looking at with such curiosity in those lovely eyes?" It was late one night, past the threshold where darkness begins to cross into dawn. Heat crept to my cheeks at being caught staring-again-but I tried to keep my guard up.

"Your tattoos," I said, which was partly true. "They are unlike any I have seen." In response, he smiled and turned his cheek to me so that I might get a better look; I leaned closer. "Did they hurt?"

"Yes," he answered in his blunt fashion. "But not any more so than being stabbed repeatedly by any sharp object. You may touch it, if you like." This last part was accompanied by a lewd waggle of his eyebrows suggesting...well, you can imagine. I did, certainly, and felt that damnable flush creep to my cheeks again. I don't think that either of us expected me to actually touch his face, but I did, once, my fingertips barely brushing the sweeping marks against his golden-toned skin.

I think that was when I was well and truly lost, though I didn't yet realize it. There was embarrassment, naturally, for I had acted well beyond how a "proper" lady should, not to mention the fact that I had bedded Alistair not hours ago, a consideration which shamed me into rising quickly, muttering somewhat about feeling ill, and hurrying off to a dark, quiet section of woods.

Zev let me go.

Not that he should have done anything else; I was, after all, his "boss," as Oghren put it, as well as in a relationship with another man, but I must admit, part of me wanted him to come after me, to make that choice so that I would not have to.

I never said I wasn't selfish.

"You're so beautiful," Alistair said, tracing his fingertips along my arm. "How do you do it?"

"Mmmmm?"

"Remain so...perfect, even tramping about in the wilderness?"

I regarded him, letting his earnest gaze fall across me before I responded. "I'm not perfect, Alistair. You idealize me." At this he frowned, but it was more of a "I'm-considering-what-you've-just-said" frown than a "I-don't-like-what-you've-just-said" frown. Smiling, I elaborated, turning on my side to face him in the pre-dawn light that trickled into his tent. "Alistair, how many women have you known? Intimately, I mean."

His chuckle was easy. "You know that! Just the one...why?"

"I just...you should know that I'm not innocent," I replied. "I'm not perfect...no one is."

"Yes, well, you're pretty close." He kissed me, but my mind wandered. We spent the morning together, in our fashion, though I found that my attention was constantly elsewhere, somewhere outside his tent, somewhere sharper and more dangerous than I had ever been. Eventually, when we exited the tent, I hurried to a nearby stream to bathe. _Not to wash him off of me, _I thought as I collected the soaps that Wynne managed to keep around. _Because I haven't cleaned off the darkspawn blood in a few days. _Not _to wash his scent off of me. _

The stream was cold and fast moving, which suited my mood perfectly, though I regretted the thorough dunking I gave myself immediately upon submerging my body in the clear, icy water. Within moments I was vigorously scrubbing my skin with the soaps, then my hair for good measure; suddenly, I felt as though I was being watched. It was not the dreaded pit-of-the-stomach feeling that accompanied the presence of darkspawn, but it startled me at first, until I realized who it was. I hadn't seen him in camp when I'd asked Wynne for the soaps, so I'd assumed he'd been hunting for some game; now he stood on the opposite edge of the stream, clutching a brace of coneys and watching me with unabashed interest.

By all rights, I should have been furious; not only did he invade my privacy, but he had made no attempt to convey apology or contrition-but I was, well, I can hardly say it: I was aroused, by the Maker, though I tried to conceal my true feelings with anger. "What do you think you're doing?"

His smile was meant to be disarming as he held up the coneys. "Hunting, though I think I've caught more than I bargained for."

I leveled one of my mother's sternest glares at him even as I sank up to my chin in the frigid water. "You were staring at me."

"I was," he replied, a smile tugging at his mouth. "You caught me off guard, as it were." His eyes flicked up and down, and I realized that the water was mostly clear.

_Andraste's knickers. _"I caught _you _off guard?"

He set the coneys down and came to stand closer to the water's edge, leaning on his longbow as if we were having a casual discussion back in camp. "I was not expecting to find a beautiful, naked woman so close to our camp, you see. There are far more private places upstream, no? Why did you not choose to bathe there?"

"My business is my own," I replied with an assurance that I did not feel. The mask was slipping. Naturally, I did the only thing that I could do to save face in such a situation. "Leave me alone, Zevran, if you know what's good for you."

"I know exactly what is good for me," he answered as he picked up the coneys and made his way to the camp. "The real question, I think, is do _you_?"

Anger clouded my eyes and whetted away at my caution and I dunked one last time to rinse my hair and body of soap before I pushed through the water to the shore, heedless of my nakedness as I called his name. The Antivan had not gone far and he stopped and turned obligingly at the sound of my voice, his eyes widening a bit as he took in my dripping form. A small thrill of pleasure rose up within me, though I told myself it was merely the act of catching _him _off guard that caused me to react so; it was most certainly _not _the way his eyes lingered on my body, or the cool breeze against my skin. "If you want to look," I said, spreading my arms. "Look. I have nothing to hide from you. Can you say the same?"

At this he threw back his head and laughed. "You are a hypocrite, my dear. A beautiful, canny, deadly hypocrite, but a hypocrite nonetheless." At my frown he set the coneys down one last time and came close to me, our eyes level. "We all must wear a mask from day to day, Warden, but you wear many at once, yes? You act as though you are angry with me for 'spying' on you, yet, here you are, in all of your glory-and there is a considerable amount of it, I might add." His face was so close, his breath on my skin was warm and smelled faintly of spices I could not name. "What you desire, I can give you," he whispered. "But I will not do so until you are honest with yourself."

"You are an assassin," I breathed. "Deception is your life. You wear a mask, too." Maker's breath, I wanted him to kiss me! But he did not, rather, he regarded me with a strange mixture of curiosity and longing, which heartened me to some degree. "Zevran..."

"I may not seem like the most moral fellow," he said after a moment. "And I have bedded other men's wives and companions before, it is true, but this," he gestured to the two of us standing on the edge of the stream. "This is not a path that will lead either of us to any lasting happiness, which is, I think, what you ultimately desire."

"You have no idea what I desire," I replied, injecting venom in my voice to hide the sudden shame at my actions. "You don't know me, at all." Hugging my arms to my chest, I turned to dive back into the water, for my legs and feet had gotten sandy, and, to be honest, I felt like I was embarrassed enough to drown myself in that particular moment. As it was, I remained submerged until I saw his blurred form disappear and I was alone once more.

We did not speak to one another for several days, during which time I tried to vent my growing frustrations and anxiousness in the swing of my blades, taking my pleasure in the final gurgle from the throat of some wretched creature who was stupid enough to get in my way. Unadulterated rage began to creep in me, I found myself growing more short tempered than I could ever recall being. It didn't help that Alistair and Wynne pushed me to return to Ostegar, to retrieve Cailan's armor and give our king a proper burial; in retrospect, I was not ready to make such a harrowing journey, to face the sum of all of my failures in one place. Alistair stood by my side and wept openly as his brother's body burned; I wept too, for my parents, for my brother, and for the king, who, though he was a fool, did not deserve to be strung up for the darkspawns' amusement. That night Alistair came to me, as he had not done for some weeks, and for a little while it was like old times, until he turned to look at me, just as the edges of sleep were beginning to creep into my mind.

"Are you alright? You've been so...distant lately. In fact, we haven't...you know...in kind of a long time. Not that I've come to expect it or anything, but, I just wanted to make sure that you're...well." A smile came to me despite everything and he smiled too, hopeful, though his face faded once he looked into my eyes. "You're not happy with me, are you? You don't seem happy at all, in fact." It was an astute observation for him, though it occurred to me that I was not so opaque as I'd hoped. _What you desire, I can give you_, _but I will not do so until you are honest with yourself. _After several long minutes, I shook my head slowly.

"I'm sorry, Alistair."

He nodded and sat up, the moonlight casting a glow on his well-muscled form. _He will make some woman very happy, _I thought suddenly. _But not me. _His eyes met mine; kind, patient, loving. "You were my first, you know. I shall always care for you. Though I wish...well. You can probably guess. You were always much smarter than me."

"For what it's worth," I replied. "I wish it, too."

"Is it...someone else?" Here I paused, feeling that it would be too cruel to admit the truth, though I admit, it was not his feelings that I was afraid of hurting in that moment. Finally I nodded. He sighed, then, unexpectedly, shot me one of the crooked smiles that had set my heart to fluttering months ago. "It's the dwarf, isn't it? Those beards are hard to resist, I'm sure."

Laughter bubbled up in my throat, the sound hitting my ears with unfamiliarity. "No actually, it's the constant belching." We shared a chuckle, then he sighed and looked at me, pain flickering in his eyes. "I want you to be happy, you know I do. Will you?"

"I hope so."

It was a quick affair to get dressed and return to my tent, though he insisted on walking me back, as though it were miles away across a thousand dark alleys filled with villains, as though I were not every bit the warrior that he was, as though we were not preternaturally gifted to sense our enemies. He gave me a kiss on my cheek, innocently reminding me of the earliest days. "Zev's a lucky bastard," he said quietly, before he turned to go.

I sat within my tent, rocking back and forth on my heels, completely and utterly indecisive. My mother, if she were alive, would be furious, I knew, and my father would probably just shake his head and sigh. _But darling, he's to be king...you are all that's left of our House. What are you doing? _Guilt flared within me at the thought of their faces...what had I done? What honor was there for my family if I sought only to bed an assassin who was sent to end my short life, rather than stand beside the future king?

Again my thoughts turned to the Gauntlet, to the image of my father standing before me, a frosted shadow of the great man I had loved_. No longer must you grieve, my girl. Take the pain, acknowledge it, and let go. _

_It is time._

I could not. Grief clung to me; I was mired in remorse and anger and fear, overwhelming my thoughts and breaking me apart. "Mother, father...I'm sorry." My voice sounded unfamiliar and small to my ears, the chill air stealing the words from my lips the moment they left. _I have failed. Again and again __and again. _Suddenly, I was taken by a desire to move, to swing my blade and fell dozens of enemies, to somehow rid myself of this wanton, nervous energy that fractured the pieces of my spirit into unrecognizable shards. Bow in hand, blades in their sheaths, I was soon slipping across the fallen snow, silent as I could be, nodding once to Sten who stood his solitary vigil, as he preferred; he did not question me, for a mercy. The air was bracing and sharp, and I felt energy plummet through me like never before.

I ran into the darkness.

It wasn't long before I sensed them; a small troop, possibly scouts, who were camped to the north of our little clearing. Perhaps they were following us, perhaps it was a happy coincidence that they were here; I cared little. One explosive in the middle of their camp got their attention; flame tipped arrows stung their ire; my blades stopped their hearts.

But I was a fool.

There were more than I'd reckoned, for there was a second group of fighters that I had overlooked-or ignored in my haste and reckless flight-and I soon found myself in the midst of what looked to be my last battle. Cursing myself for my carelessness, I cut down as many as I could, but more came out of the shadows-rogues that I had not taken into account. There was a sting on my arm-an arrow nicked my shoulder. Pain sharpened my confusion into hard reality. Well and so: if I was going to die here, I would take as many of them down as I could. My swings were not pretty or controlled, but with each fiend that I cut down, I saw my father's face, heard my mother's voice, felt Duncan's hand on my shoulder...all of the people who'd relied on me, all of them who I'd failed so miserably swam before my vision.

But still the darkspawn came.

_I am going to die._

One of them knocked me backwards and loomed over me, grinning as I scrabbled in the snow for my family sword. Suddenly, he looked startled as an arrow caught him in the neck and he began to fall towards me; I had to roll to one side to avoid his body crushing mine. Another one was felled, and another, and another...


	2. Chapter 2

And then Zevran was there, in the midst of the fray, his daggers moving with deadly speed and efficiency as he took them out like stalks of wheat; he caught my eye and gave me a grin that was wholly unbelievable in such a moment of blood and death and chaos. It heartened me, strangely, and I found my strength and we killed every last one of the demonic creatures until I was thoroughly spent and exhausted, standing in the midst of their remains clutching my blades with white-knuckles. Then there was the crunch of his footsteps in the snow as he approached me, the snicking hiss of daggers returning to their sheathes as he stood beside me, then the warmth of his hand on my cheek as he leaned close.

"I appreciate your attempt to finish the Crows' task for me," he said quietly. "But there is no need, truly, to put yourself in such, ah, unnecessary danger when you have an entire camp full of seasoned fighters who would gladly follow you to the ends of the earth."

At his words, something broke within me. My blades hit the snow with a gentle _thud _as my hands covered my face and I fell to my knees, sobbing uncontrollably. It was all so _wrong; _the threads of my life had become so tangled I felt that I would never sort them all out, and to top it off, I was a suicidal fool. Though my memory of that moment is not clear, I believe that I tried to express some of my thoughts to Zevran, who stood at my side and let me weep until I felt damp and worn, like a cloth that has been wrung to remove excess water.

We knelt in silence for several moments while I regained myself before I looked around, startled. "Where are we?" There was no sign of the creatures that we had killed, nor was there even a spot of crimson on the snow that surrounded us, and I didn't recall there being so many trees...

At this, Zevran chuckled. "I did not think that you truly wanted to kneel in a pile of darkspawn guts, so I took the liberty of steering you away from the carnage." He gave me a guarded look. "Are you feeling better now?" There was no emotion behind his words, though I imagined that he had been trained to carefully conceal all traces of such things in his speech, as I had.

I shrugged and busied myself reaching for my blades, finding them carefully laid next to me, clean. "I'm not sure," I said after a moment, not meeting his eyes. "I don't feel...I'm not sure what it feels like to be normal anymore. I can hardly remember a time before the Blight, before Ostegar." The weight of the Cousland sword felt reassuring and heavy in my hand as I sheathed it. "Everything has happened so fast, you know? It feels like we're hurtling towards the end, whatever it may be, and I haven't had a chance to catch my breath."

His gloved hand brushed my chin, turned my eyes to meet his. "You are unhappy, yes?"

"It doesn't matter what I am," I replied. "I have a duty."

At this he frowned and leaned forward, brushing his lips to mine feather soft, more of a shared breath than a kiss. "I would see you happy, my dear. Such a beautiful woman as you deserves all the happiness that she can get, no?" His kiss was deeper this time, more firm, and I felt something small within me relax, just a tiny bit. Some hidden part of me unfurled to the light, whispered _yes, this is the way. _My hands acted as if on their own volition, clutching his shoulders as my body moved against his own, and the hidden part of me sighed in relief.

Then he pulled away, studying me intently, his mouth quirking as he tried not to smile at my confusion. "What is it?" I asked, breathless.

He grinned then, truly, and ran a hand through my disheveled hair. "You are being truthful with me for the first time, I think. I felt it in your kiss."

I returned the smile and shrugged. "I don't know, Zevran. Maybe. I feel..." I squinted up as the first flecks of dawn light made their way over the mountains. A wider grin came to my face as I looked at him. "I feel like I want to watch the sunrise with you." I gestured to a nearby hillock. "Will you sit with me?"

Another of his chuckles, a sound I was growing quite fond of. "You never fail to surprise me, which is saying something, mind you. At my core, I am quite a cynical bastard."

We returned to camp about an hour later to find the others engaged in the usual business of the morning; I noted with displeasure that Morrigan was cooking breakfast. My mabari approached me first, the little nub of a tail wagging in delight as he nuzzled my hand, Alistair and Wynne at his heels. "Your hound wasn't worried, so we figured you were okay," he said by way of greeting, his eyes flicking from my face to Zevran's. "Though I thought I sensed some darkspawn a few hours ago..."

"We came across a scouting party," I said with a nod. "But they're taken care of."

"Are you alright, child?" Wynne asked, regarding me with a gaze that missed nothing. "Are you hurt?"

A smile crept to my face as I shook my head. "No, thank you. I feel fine."

"Indeed," Alistair replied, his gaze on me. "So, the two of you took out how many hurlocks?"

After giving them a brief rundown on the scouting party, I felt a yawn split my face, which caused Wynne to send me to my tent, claiming that "it won't kill us to spend a few more hours here so you can get some rest."

I slept. My dreams were full of blood and death, as they often were, but there was an overlay of something sweeter, some joy that I could not grasp or see or hear, but it sang through the terror and anger in my thoughts and caused me to wake with a renewed sense of hope.

We left as soon as I awoke and made for the Brecilian forest, for the mysterious Dalish elves who I'd only read about thus far. Though I had taken pains to avoid speaking to Zevran or Alistair, I found myself walking beside the assassin as we approached the edges of the forest, a question on my tongue. "You said once that your mother was Dalish. Have you ever spent time with them?"

His footfalls were silent against the needles and leaves. "Yes, I spent a summer among the clan of my mother when I was a small boy. They fascinated me, you know, for all that they seemed so foreign and mysterious."

"But you are one of them."

He shrugged. "I consider myself an Antivan above all other things, a Dalish elf being one of them. Besides," he shot me a wink. "I prefer the sights of a bustling city any day to the quiet of the forest. It is...creepy, yes?"

"Never thought I'd hear an elf say that," Oghren said with a laugh. "But I know what you mean. This place gives me the jilted willies, if ya know what I mean."

"I really don't," Zevran replied. We walked in silence for a little while, listening to the constant stream of bickering between Alistair and Morrigan as they walked ahead of us; in response, Zevran caught my eye and cast his eyes skyward, which caused me to giggle.

"What are you snickering at back there?" Morrigan said, turning to us. "Has the dwarf put something grotesque on the back of my skirt again?"

"My dear lady," Zevran said. "I was just expressing to your leader here how very much like and old married couple you and ser Alistair sound. Perhaps there were nuptials that we were not privy to?" He put his hand to his heart with a dramatic flourish. "I am stricken."

Morrigan actually looked speechless before her cheeks flamed. "Old married couple? What kind of nonsense is that, elf?"

"Who's married?" Alistair said suddenly, casting a glance at me.

"Nothing, no one," I replied, elbowing Zevran. "Look, is that the camp ahead? I think it is."

"Thank the maker," Alistair said, hefting his pack. "I could use a rest."

After meeting with the Keeper, who allowed us to set up our camp among the wagons of the elves, we discussed the next phase of our journey, arguing over maps and charts until I was sick to death of topography and compasses. Finally, evening descended and my companions all took to their respective tents, for once forgoing the usual watch system, as Zathrian had assured us that his people were ever-alert. For my part, I remained awake by the fire, my chin resting in my hand, considering all that there was yet to do. Eyes closed, I imagined our route in my head: _from here we will go to Denerim, to resupply and gain any additional information, then back to Orzamar in time for their vote, to wander those cursed Deep Roads...then to Redcliffe, to Arl Eamon..._

The presence of another next to me startled me out of my reverie and I sat up suddenly.

"My dear, you are far too jumpy," Zevran chuckled, putting his hand on the small of my back. "You should learn to relax a bit more. The darkspawn cannot possibly occupy your thoughts all the time, yes?"

"I was thinking of the next step," I said with a yawn. "From here, we have to go-" His kiss was immediate and welcome, driving all other thoughts from my head. When we parted, he opened his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. "Come to my tent," I whispered, kissing him this time, pressing my body to his. In reply, he gave a mock growl and wrapped his hands around my waist, nimble fingers removing my belt with ease, seeking the heat between my thighs. A gasp escaped my mouth; I was unprepared for the onslaught of pleasure that erupted from his gentle, insistent touch. He chuckled again and pulled back, causing me to glare at him. He stood, offered me his hand in an unexpected gesture of chivalry, and we slipped into my tent, leaving my belt discarded beside the fire.

Our coupling was fierce, insistent, wholly without pause or hesitation as we stripped one another of our cloth trappings, only barely remembering to fasten the flaps of the tent after we were completely nude. Zevran kissed every part of me; starting with my toes and moving up around my ankles and knees, to my thighs-pausing all-too briefly at my center, at my core-before making his way to my stomach, lingering on each of my nipples until they were hard and taut, his mouth then working to my neck and jawline, then to my lips. He ended his journey with an unexpected kiss on my forehead, a gesture of such tenderness it made me pause. But he grinned again, his fingers finding me once more, ceasing all extraneous thought.

The first bit of awareness that I felt the next morning was the warmth of his skin beneath my cheek; the quiet rise and fall of his chest with his breath. When my eyes opened, they observed what I had somehow missed the night before: the graceful, sweeping tattoos that wrapped around his musculature like an embrace. Absently, I began to trace the whorls and curves, trying to sear there appearance into my memory, to overly some of the horror with happiness, which naturally led to my hand's further exploration across his somnolent form.

His chuckle broke my reverie, less the sound than the sudden movement of his body. I cast him a startled look and ran my fingers lower, across his abdomen and brushing the top of his pelvis, eliciting another laugh. Grinning, I sat up on my elbows. "Are you seriously ticklish?" My hand reached for him again, but was stopped by his grasp; he maneuvered us until he was leaning over me, nibbling on my neck in a way that made me squeal in a most undignified manner.

"You are a devious creature, aren't you?" he whispered into my ear before tracing his tongue against my lobe, causing the hairs on my neck and arms to rise. And then...well. Let's just say that it took the oddly effective combination of Sten and Oghren standing outside of my tent and saying all manner of disgraceful (Oghren) and disapproving (Sten) things to give us cause to emerge, if for no other reason than so that I could flog them both.

"Let's go, already! There's werewolves to kill," Oghren grumbled as we emerged.

Time passed so quickly from that point: after we left the Dalish and made our journey to Orzamar, it felt like we were stuck in the Deep Roads for an age or two before we managed to emerge with Harrowmont's bedammed crown; I must admit, I was thoroughly disgusted with dwarven politics and was not sorry to put that place behind me, saying as much to Zev our first night back on the road, before we headed for Arl Eamon's Denerim estate.

"I do not think I can agree with you on that score," he replied as we lay in my tent, facing one another. "They are crude, yes-nothing like the intricate political dealings in Antiva-but there is a certain...honesty to their actions that I cannot fault." At this I rolled my eyes; in response, he rested his hand on my hip. "I simply mean that politics, by its very nature, is merely another form of blood sport-only, without the blood and in the guise of 'civilization,' yes? The dwarves just do not feel the need to hide it."

"But the point of civilization and government is so that we are not compelled to resort to such actions," I protested. "Some things should not be decided by a blade or the blunt end of a mace."

His hand strayed from my waist to caress another part of my anatomy, causing me to lose my train of thought for the moment. "Strange words, coming from one who must save the world with the point of a sword," he said, though I detected a trace of sadness in his voice-strange for him, to be sure. I wanted to ask him about it, but his hands were skilled enough in their own way, and when his mouth followed their lead...well.

Some questions are not meant to be asked.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's note: I'm taking a teensy bit of creative license here, for the purposes of the story. _

Time swept us on without pause, or so it felt; soon enough we were back in Denerim, Alistair and I standing beside one another in Arl Eamon's study at his city estate, the Arl pacing back and forth before us, hands clasping and unclasping before him as we discussed our options.

"I will not side with Anora," Alistair said, lifting his chin. "She can't be trusted; she's the daughter of a traitor, after all."

"Does that make her a traitor, too?" I shot back.

Eamon waved his hand. "I do not believe she is what you say, Alistair," he said, his voice quavering a bit. "But we should be careful, nonetheless. She is, from what I have observed, most eager to keep her power. Perhaps we can use that to our advantage."

Alistair shook his head. "If everyone is so set on me becoming king, then it's ultimately up to me, right? I want nothing to do with her." He turned to me. "But I cannot rule alone."

I frowned. "Alistair..."

"Your blood is far more noble than hers," Eamon admitted, stroking his beard as he studied me. "And you are well-known to the gentry...despite what Loghain has said about your family, there is much sympathy for the Couslands." He nodded and looked at Alistair. "It could work. With your lineage and her name..."

My mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Finally, I managed to shake my head. "I do not think that the people will accept two Wardens on the throne-what of the line of succession? I can't bear children, and may not live to see the end of this battle. It's irresponsible, at the very least."

"We can work all that out," Alistair replied with a glance to me. "As to the battle-well, none of us may live to see the end of it. But we must plan as if we will succeed." There was something strange in his eyes, something I had not seen before-a keen edge that had changed him into the man who stood before me.

Eamon nodded again, though he seemed thoughtful. "I think it could work," he said. "Though, Anora will never stand for it."

"I don't give half a care what she thinks about anything," Alistair replied. "And with a Cousland and Maric's son against her, who will argue?"

Again, I opened my mouth to argue, but then Eamon nodded in agreement and gave me a kindly look. "I knew your father well, my dear girl, and he would be so pleased to know that you have risen to such heights. It will be a great coup for your house, to gain such an honor."

This had me at a loss, as it concurred with the niggling voice inside of me that echoed his words. Exhaustion overtook me and I made no further comment. Soon enough the discussion ended and I found myself alone in my own room with Alistair, who had followed me. The moment the door closed behind us, I faced him, fury rising to my cheeks. "You didn't even _ask _me."

"Ask you what? To be queen? Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Things change."

"Don't I know it," he replied with a bitter laugh. "But wasn't it you who told me that everyone is in it for themselves? Well, this is what's best for me, and you too, if you'd care to see it. Eamon was right about your house, you know. This can change everything for you, for your family's honor."

"But...I don't want to marry you, Alistair." My voice was a traitor, wavering when it should have been resolute.

His was not. "There are many things in this world that we may not want, but must do what is best for our country."

My hands were shaking. "This isn't you. This isn't the Alistair that I know."

He shook his head and made to step away from me. "This is what I have become, and you have played your part in it well enough. You spoke of duty, of sacrifice; well, this is what that means. How ironic, that it should come to this, now." His jaw tightened and he looked resplendent in Cailen's armor-every inch a king-and I never hated anyone so much in that moment. "You can keep the elf around, if you like. I know how important he is to your happiness." With that he turned and walked down the long corridor, away from me.

Dark were my dreams that night. After Alistair had left, I remained in my room for perhaps thirty seconds before I sought my confidante. The others were enjoying the comforts brought about by having a roof over their heads, but there was one who, I knew, would be waiting for me. We did not speak much, for my face appearantly gave my emotions away and Zev knew me well enough to simply let me _exist_ for a time without questions or comments; it was his greatest kindness, for he allowed me to breathe when I felt that the world was caving down upon me.

It was easy to loose myself in his embrace, to banish all traces of concern from my mind and simply be with him. But the dreams came, still, after a time. As I had done many times, I relived the attack on Highever, watched as everyone I loved was slain like cattle, felt my own cowardice and shame as I ran away. I awoke in the predawn hours, nestled against Zev's side, his heartbeat beneath my ear slowly bringing me back into reality. _I know what I must do. _

"Did you say something, my dear?" His voice was faint, as though he was barely awake.

"I have to marry him," I replied, my voice quiet. "It is the only way."

At this, he sat up and regarded me, his head tilting to one side like a bird. "Marry Alistair?" At my expression, he nodded. "Yes, it makes sense, I suppose, Ferelden politics being what they are. Though, I can see that you are not pleased with this, yes?"

"I don't want to be queen," I replied. "Perhaps I did once, but...I've changed. That was another girl, another life..."

"What do you want, then?"

It was a simple question, but I had no response. Finally, I shrugged and gave an exasperated sigh. "I can hardly say; my life has been turned on its head and I haven't had a chance to get my bearings."

Zevran nodded. "Well, then turn him down. He cannot force you. Let him wed that blonde lass that everyone seems to dislike so-she seems unwilling to give up her title, anyway."

"He refuses. And I...my family's honor is at stake." I looked at him. "Zev, I have to do this. I'm sorry."

"And I can stay and be your 'companion,' is that right?" There was an edge of sarcasm in his voice that had never been there before.

I swallowed. "It's not...I mean...you can do as you like, Zev. You are a free man, and I would not ask you to settle for being the lover of another man's wife."

At this he shook his head, frowning. "You would not have my stand at your side, no matter what?"

"Zev, it isn't fair to you, to have to live in his shadow." I said after a moment, my voice quiet. "I hold you to no oath,"

There was utter silence for a moment as he contemplated my words. Finally, he nodded and gave me a weak smile that even I could see was false. "Very well. If you do not wish me at your side any longer, then I will not burden you." His tone was clipped, formal, and I knew that I had made another mistake. "I shall return to Antiva after...after. I find that I miss my homeland."

"That's not what I meant."

"It is exactly what you meant, my dear," he replied. "But you forget, I do not break oaths and I do not throw away my loyalty...or my love. But I cannot help what others choose to do. Fate is a cruel bitch, no?"

"Zev-"

He rose from my bed, gathering his discarded clothes and making for the door with alacrity. Before he left, he turned to look at me one last time. "For what it's worth, I would have stayed with you regardless of whose wife you were, as long as you would have me. But I will not stay where I am not welcome."

"Zevran," I said as I reached for him. "Zev. Please don't leave. Please." My arms circled his neck, I kissed his silent mouth. "Please don't make me be alone tonight."

He sighed and shook his head, his belongings dropping to our feet as he kicked the door shut. For a moment I thought he was angry, but he kissed me and pushed me down to the bed, smiling as he removed whatever bit of clothing that he'd managed to replace. "You are an evil, evil woman, you know? That or you are truly a mage, to have cast such a spell over me. Or perhaps I am not as strong as I imagine, for I cannot say no to you, my sweet Warden." His body was warm against mine, and there was no more talk that night, for which I was grateful.

At the Landsmeet, it was decided. I would rule next to Alistair as his queen, (or princess-consort, as far as the history books were concerned,) and we set off for Redcliffe almost immediately following the Landsmeet. Though it gave me a small pleasure to end the life of the traitor Loghain, it was a hollow victory, in the end. Then there was the small matter of the Archdemon routing his army to Denerim in our absence, which meant that we would have to return as quickly as possible.

I didn't much care for Riordan, though Maker knows I wanted to like him; perhaps it was merely that he brought such dark news, I don't know. What I do know, is that I found that I was in no hurry to die, though it seemed unlikely that I would survive the battle; Alistair seemed to come to the same conclusion, though we hardly spoke about it.

And then there was Morrigan. My unlikely savior, as it turned out to be. As she tried to convince me, I watched her, thinking of the strange woman who I'd encountered in the Kocari wilds so long ago; how different she was now, though on the surface little had changed. There was a vulerability to her that had not been there before. How strange that she had grown softer while Alistair had hardened.

"So, what say you?"

"If it will allow us to live, then I'm for it," I replied. "But Alistair may be difficult to convince."

She smiled. "You are quite persuasive, my friend. I trust that you will not have any trouble in that department. Send him to me when you are done." Her golden eyes regarded me with a trace of warmth. "You should seek your comfort while you can, you know."

"I do."

He agreed.

The ritual was done, but I had my doubts. _What if it doesn't work? What if my trust is misplaced, and it was all a ruse, a means to an end? _I didn't tell anyone else, not even Zev, for if it didn't work, it would be cruel of me to give him false hope. I wanted to spare him, in so many ways, from the brunt of my decisions, even as I was preparing to face them head on.

Back in Denerim, I was asked to choose, again and again and again, and face failure, though it would be for the last time, for a mercy. Of all of my dear friends, the ones who had fought beside me for the past year or so, I was only advised to bring three with me to face the Archdemon, and so I chose: Shale, for her sheer strength and invincibility; Wynne, for her healing magics that would most certainly be needed in the face of the horde; and Alistair, because...well, despite everything else he had become, he was still a Warden, and should one of us fall in our attempt to slay the creature, the other would have to take up the task.

After all was arranged and my little party set to head to Drakon fortress, Zev pulled me aside for one brief moment. "Why are you not taking me with you? You know that I would follow you to death, and beyond. I am your man, now and always."

Around us there was smoke and death, the screams of those who were not strong or fast or lucky enough to escape the darkspawn filled the air. My throat was tight. "Everyone I have ever loved is dead," I said, taking his hands. "I cannot put you in danger, too. If you were to fall, I would not be able to bear it." Tears threatened to spill from my eyes, and I was thankful for the helm that covered most of my face.

Even here, at the end of all things, he was able to make me smile. "And _now _you are concerned for my safety, my Warden? Whoever said that the Maker has no sense of humor?"

I took a deep breath. "Zev, whatever happens, I love you."

His face fell into an expression I'd never seen. "Cruel to the end, I see."


	4. Chapter 4

It was everything I had expected and nothing like it. As I hurtled towards the undead dragon, as I calculated the best place for my blades to hit, it turned to me and _spoke. _As in inside my head. As in to me.

In my mother's voice.

_Darling, you cannot do this. You must retreat, save yourself. This is not a fight you will win. _

At first I was shocked into stopping, only a shout from a nearby archer alerted me to the dragon turning its deadly flame my way, which allowed me a split second to leap aside, though my mother's voice echoed inside my head as if she were standing beside me. _No, _I thought, shaking my head. _No, she would not say that. She would never tell me to run from a fight._

My blades bit deep into the tender spot just below the joint where the demon's hind leg met its body, its scream of fury stunning everyone within earshot.

Then my father spoke.

_Fall back, pup. This is folly. Do not throw your life away for this. You will fail. _

_It can pluck the voices of the dead from my mind, _I thought, gritting my teeth as I coated my blades with poison. _Do not listen...it is a lie. _One of the wings, the one that Riordan had managed to rip, swooped over me, and my sword found it readily. To the front of the dragon, I could see Alistair and Shale pummeling the dammed thing for all they were worth, Wynne well behind them surrounded by a haze of light. My friends were with me, and it gave me heart. _You will not live to see the end of this day, demon,_ I thought, hope flooding my body as I raised my blades. _I will be your undoing._

And again, I was wrong.

_My love, please do not throw your life away!_

Zevran.

_It can pluck the voices of the dead from my mind..._

Duncan's dagger fell from my hand as I stood, deaf and blind to the chaos that surrounded me. _He is dead, he is gone...there is nothing left for me but despair. _In that moment, when all hope fled from my mind, when my life was forfeit, it was then that I found the resolve to fulfill whatever bits of destiny were left to me. I didn't know if Morrigan's ritual was valid, nor did I care; I was tired and wanted to end this, once and for all. My body moved of its own volition, arcing through the air towards the creature to sink my blade into its skull with a force that I did not know that I possessed. Time was still. The people that had fought with me and their malformed foes vanished, leaving only me and the dragon. When my father's blade bit into its skull, I felt a great tremor overtake me. Looking down, I saw a streak of white light erupting from where I stood...

And then there was darkness.

I was dead.

Strangely, there was shouting all around, frantic voices, confusion, footsteps beside my head, which concerned me, because I'd always been told that all is peaceful when you go to the Maker. _This isn't right, _I thought. _This isn't how it should be. _My eyes refused to open, but I am stubborn.

"She's waking!"

"Thank the Maker!"

A voice said my name, a voice that told me I _was _dead. "My love? Can you hear me?"

_Zev? _

I forced my eyes to open, to stare into his. Even in death, he was perfect. I smiled, but then I noticed the brightness in his eyes. "Are you hurt?" I asked, confused. "It's not supposed to hurt, but my arm feels like hell."

"Wynne, get over here!" he shouted, glancing behind him. "You are not dead, my sweet Warden. Not yet, anyway."

The frown made my entire face ache. "But...why are you here? I don't understand."

"I am not dead," he said, stroking my hair. "And neither are you, though there is apparently some confusion on that point." He turned again, his voice strained. "Wynne! Where are you?"

"I see her," Alistair's voice sounded above me. "I'll fetch her."

_He's not dead, _ I thought, closing my eyes with relief. When I opened them, I noticed a laceration on his upper arm. "You're hurt," I said, reaching towards him. "Why haven't you had Wynne look at that?"

He sighed and shook his head. "Don't worry about me, you silly thing! I'm fine." He touched my lips once, making me smile. "Now, I am, anyway." We remained so for the next few moments before Wynne approached and gave me some draught or another that made my eyelids heavy. I felt myself being raised up, carried across the stone courtyard, though it was an effort to stay awake; Zev was beside me the whole time. The last thing that I saw before sleep claimed me were his eyes, watching me with an intensity I had not seen before. In that moment, I was utterly happy. "She was right," I whispered, thinking of Morrigan. "That crazy bitch was right."

_The Hero Of Ferelden._

Ugh. It sounded like a name torn from a bad adventure story, but Alistair was quite pleased with it, so everyone humored the new King, and I endured countless banquets and fetes thrown in the honor of that name. After the coronation, of course.

The night after the Archdemon was slain, Alistair came to see me in the healer's quarters of the Denerim palace. He stood in the doorway to my room, clad in a simple tunic and breeches and looking for all the world like the clumsy, shy almost-Templar that I had met over a year ago. Zevran was with me, naturally, though he excused himself from the room, sensing that I needed to speak with the King alone. Alistair came to sit beside my bed, not speaking for several minutes until I grew impatient.

"I can hardly believe it's over."

He nodded and looked at his hands, folding and unfolding them in his lap. Finally he spoke. "Arl Eamon informed me that it is tradition for the King to grant one in your position a boon at such a time as this. I wanted to ask you about it now, if you wanted time to think on it." He looked up. "Maybe granting Howe's lands to your family or something? I dunno."

"Alistair-"

"Or, you know," he added. "I could release you from your promise...to me. I was thinking about it, and what are the odds that we'll even be able to have children, you know? Everyone loves the Wardens now, but give 'em a few years without an heir...Eamon thinks there may be unrest."

"And what does the King think?"

He frowned. "I care for you, and I always will. But I know you, too well, maybe, and I know that you would not be happy here. It is selfish for me to hope otherwise."

Something fluttered in my chest; remorse, or hope, I was not certain anymore. "I care for you, too. But I...I would not make a good Queen. Not now, anyway." I put my hand over his. "You, however, will make an excellent one, I think, provided you cut back on the bad jokes."

At this he gave a sheepish grin. "They aren't _that _bad, are they?"

"Much worse." We shared a chuckle, then he stood to leave.

"Well, I'll let you rest. I'm surprised that Wynne allowed Zev to stay here-she barely let me in the room as it was."

I grinned at him. "I can be very _persuasive _when I need to be." The door opened and he spoke quietly to Zev, who had been waiting in the hall, I guessed, before his footsteps trailed off.

My assassin returned to my side, a thick mug of tea in each hand, one of which he gave to me. "What was that all about? He looked so...forlorn?"

The tea was hot, though I could tell that it was laced with more of Wynne's healing herbs. Soon I'd be out cold. "He offered me a boon for...well, everything, I suppose." I eyed him over the rim of my cup; he seemed relaxed, but I could tell that he was listening intently. "And we agreed that it's really best if there is only one Warden on the throne," I said at last. "After all, the chances that he and I could produce an heir are minute, at best, and I have no wish to stay in Denerim and-"

Without a word he set his mug down, reached for mine and set it down as well, then leaned forward and kissed me soundly, murmuring to me in Antivan as he did when he was truly happy, and I am certain that if Wynne knew what we were doing in my room she would have heartily disapproved.

The announcement was made the next day, to an almost audible sigh of relief among the gentry, for though I was well-liked, speculation about my lack of child-bearing abilities had already begun. So, I was to remain the Warden Commander, the Hero of Ferelden, and not Queen.

Pity.


End file.
